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Exam season was over, and the winter break you had been longing for was finally, thankfully now here. You had a mini tradition for yourself, nothing too complicated. It really was a comfort tool the first time. You attended a highly prestigious all girls’ private school that you had been in since your middle school days. You were currently a first year there, and every year, the exams only got harder.
The first time you took the exams, years ago, your hair actually started to fall out from the stress. It was awful. You had never experienced such nervous breakdown inducing levels of pent up cortisol. You were pretty sure you slept maybe thirty minutes a night during that first week off of school, fearing for your incoming grades. Your left eye still twitches when you think of that experience.
Then you discovered heaven. You had snuck out of your house the next year after that, figuring if you weren’t going to sleep you could work off the excess anxiety. Seven minutes and twenty-two seconds into your walk you stumbled upon your little haven. Why there was someone running a twenty-four hour froyo stand you will never know, but you’re convinced they’re God.
So yeah, you go eat frozen yogurt at three in the morning after you take your winter exams so your hair doesn’t fall out. It was a little pathetic. Your mom caught you sneaking out one time, and she had assumed you were lying until you actually dragged her there to experience the little slice of peace. She was not as impressed, but allowed you to go as long as you gave her a heads up when you were leaving and back home. It’s cold out, which probably doesn’t make it any better that you’re getting a cold dessert, but who cares? You like it, so you bundle up in a warm jacket, and you go.
It was a nightly thing too. It was definitely not good for your health, but still better than the fact your hands shook from the lingering heightened cortisol levels from exam season. Beggars can’t be choosers. What’s worse? Hallucinating because you hadn’t slept for four days or a little bit of froyo?
No one else was ever around either. The cashier was the sleepy college student who had come to recognize you from the frequency and timing of your tradition. You never spoke. You just wordlessly handed over the money, and he gave you a nod in greeting when you sat in fluorescent shop lighting. Sometimes you took it with you to go if you didn’t feel like lingering. One of your favorite parts, besides the lack of hair loss, sleeping through the night, and sweet, sweet frozen yogurt, was you got to pick the color of your spoon. You liked to plan ahead, deciding if that night was a yellow spoon or green spoon night. Sometimes you got a little wild and even went for the pink spoon. You truly lived an exciting and fascinating life.
Coming from an all girls’ school, you weren’t really sure how boys worked. Sure, you knew they existed and some of them were kind of cute, but after spending all day smelling the clean, floral, or sweet perfumes of your classmates while debating best skin care products, seeing boys was also kind of gross. Seeing delinquent boys? That was just vomit-inducing.
Getting stopped by a group of drunk delinquent boys while just trying to enjoy some vanilla froyo with assorted fruit toppings because you were feeling like going back to the basics tonight? It left you brimming with ire.
No, you did not want to give them your number. No, you did not want to go to karaoke with them. No, you did not need them to walk you home.
And no, you didn’t want them touching you either. One big guy who’s cheeks were flushed pink with the alcohol he was sweating out reached out for you. You freaked out a little bit, and you threw your spoon at him.
That beautiful ruby red spoon was the first of its kind, and you had been eager to use it. It was majestic as it spun through the air, though it definitely missed its target by a solid foot.
Thwap.
You just hit a random guy walking down the street with a froyo spoon in the head. You carefully deposited the remaining frozen yogurt in your plastic bowl into the big drunk delinquent guy’s hand, still outstretched to grab you.
The guy walking down the street turned very slowly. He was tall, though not as tall as the big delinquent who surrounded you with his trio of followers. He wore nerdy looking glasses, but that did not mean you weren’t instantly chilled at the sight of him. He just screamed 'I do not know how to dress myself', wearing a blue and red sports jacket styled with a poorly paired shirt with a tiger roaring. His dark jeans were at least a safe choice paired with casual running shoes. He wore bandages across his face and neck like some sort of weirdo, and worst of all, he dyed his hair purple. It was a fluffy mess, and you realized you had accidentally nailed him with a spoon at the side of his head.
He looked pissed off too. His face was skewed into the ugliest sneer you had ever seen, his thick eyebrows drawn up, eyes squinting to stare down the group you were accidentally in, mouth twisting into the worst attempt at a smile you had ever seen.
He was stomping toward you, and it felt like a storm was bearing down on you, like the wind stilling for that singular moment before the lightning flashed overhead, thunder booming hard enough to be felt in your chest. You definitely stepped backwards, bumping into one of the delinquents who had cut off a backwards escape attempt at your initial confrontation.
Big drunk guy didn’t have a chance as the purple-haired guy’s left foot slid forward, reeling back to smash his right hand into the big drunk’s chin, who promptly dropped like a sack of potatoes. You had never heard a sound like that before. Action movies did not do the sound of someone getting their shit rocked justice. Purple-haired guy was a monster.
His smile just stretched wider when he said, “Boring.”
“It’s fucking Wolf Keum!” spat out the guy behind you before he turned tail and fled. With a name like that, you had to agree it’s probably best to run. You were not taking your chances with whatever you had just caused. You did not make it far, the monster grabbing you by the back of your shirt. You stopped short, choking a little bit from the force of getting dragged back.
“Where’d your buddies go?”
“I don’t know them! They stopped me and wouldn’t leave me alone!”
You closed your eyes shut, pleading with your hands pressed together. You were doing your very best to appear innocent because he seemed like the type to hit girls especially if they just accidentally hit him with a spoon.
He let you go, and you released a shaky breath that you hadn’t realized you had been holding. You move to start running off, and his hand clamps down on your shoulder, firm enough that you think he might be able to close his hand, snapping through the thin clavicle bone and delicate shoulder blade.
“Who the fuck threw that, and why?”
You point at the knocked out delinquent who had very sadly dropped and spilled your froyo cup. “He told me he could hit you with it, and I was like, ‘why would you do that to that law-abiding citizen minding his own business?’ And then he was all like ‘because I’m cool and strong so watch this’ and then the spoon was like scwhoosh and then it hit you.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Your jaw clamped shut.
He released his hold on your shoulder, and you were pretty sure it would be bruised in the shape of his hand by tomorrow morning. He shoved you very helpfully in the direction you were actually planning to go. You only stumbled to regain your balance a tiny bit.
“Don’t come out at this time.”
“Thanks?” you say in response before hurrying home.
Anyways, you did not take purple guy’s life advice because the next night, you were back outside to get some more froyo. You needed a redemption round after last night was ruined by those punks. Tonight was lemon flavored, paired very simply with a few pieces of dark chocolate mixed in. It was kind of a weird pairing, but definitely growing on you. You had selected a green spoon, which was a very safe choice because clearly red represented conflict.
You were happily humming your way back to your house, still enjoying your treat. You probably should’ve paid attention to your surroundings, but oh well, what can you do?
There he was again, the purple guy. What did they call him yesterday? It didn’t matter, you saw a puff of cigarette smoke rise, and you decide to cross the street.
He turns around, eyes locking on you, and he snaps, “Come here.”
You weigh your odds. You could run for it, but he also dropped a guy with one punch yesterday. You drag your heels, slowly crossing back over. You’re taking another bite of sweet, delicious froyo, enjoying your last meal.
He grabs you by your collar, dragging you closer to him when you lingered just outside of his reach. He hums, “Didn’t you say the other guy threw that shit yesterday?”
“Yeah, but I thought it just looked so good that I should try it,” you lied smoothly, keeping your gaze at your feet because you were told that when you lied your eyes got all shifty by a friend.
“Didn’t I also say don’t come out at this time?”
“You did, which is why I went out thirty minutes earlier!”
He scoffs, shoving you aside. “Stay the fuck off this block when it’s dark out. Don’t let me catch you again.”
“Yes, sir,” you hum, taking another bite of your froyo. Crisis seemed averted, so you were safe to go back to your treat.
“Go home.”
You followed his instructions, happy you got to actually finish your cup tonight. The next night, the moon was full, and you snuck out for your dessert a whole hour earlier than the previous night. You even walked on the other side of the street, not touching the block you were supposed to not go on. See? You could listen to scary teenage delinquents.
You still had three more nights worth of waiting for exam results, which means three more nights of eating your comfort food. Nothing short of death was going to stop you, or you know, a certain purple-haired dude who is always lurking around the block in the middle of the night. What was he even doing out at this time? Up to no good, probably, because it certainly wasn’t for froyo enjoyment like in your case.
This time he catches you before you make it to the shop, and when you say catch, you mean it literally. The guy just snatched the hood of your sweatshirt out of nowhere, coming up from behind you so quietly you had no clue. You choke a bit as you’re hauled to a stop, before you’re turning around to find the source of your problem.
“Are you fucking deaf?”
“It’s light out tonight, and I didn’t go on the block you told me to avoid,” you explained while rubbing the sore spot on your neck.
He rolls his eyes. He keeps his hand locked on your hood, but he steps to your side. “Alright, let’s see it.”
You pause and helpfully ask, “Uh?”
“Let’s see if it’s worth dying over,” he clarifies very nicely for you.
You bring him to the froyo shop. Tired college student raises his eyebrows, giving them a little wiggle like it was a date. You tried to frantically blink that you were being held hostage, but it didn’t really work.
You take your sweet time deciding on what froyo flavor and topping combo you wanted today. You decided on the cookies n’ cream flavor, throwing on some white chocolate chips and chocolate sauce, topping it with a cookie for decor.
The guy who definitely kidnapped you was staring at the options in utter perplexion. You suggest, “You can pick two or more flavors, dude. Nothing to break your brain over.”
“This shit all looks too sweet.”
“Get some lemon sorbet. It’s sour.”
He takes your advice, before leaning way too close to you to inspect what you picked for toppings. You helpfully suggest, “I got that kind yesterday. I put dark chocolate on it because then it’s bitter and sour at the same time.”
He accepted that suggestion too. As you pay, you take your time to select a spoon because it can’t be red, and you don’t want to ruin your safe colors by having to remember this experience on your next froyo visit. You pick orange because you never take that option, so you’ll never have to have flashbacks to helping some delinquent pick out froyo in the middle of the night while also eating froyo alone in the middle of the night. You could be at peace, rather than reliving this extremely unpleasant encounter.
To your horror, he grabs a red spoon. You take a seat, happy to just enjoy your treat in silence. He sits across from you, and it's a few minutes of quietly eating your respective desserts before you open up your mouth like an idiot.
“So, am I dying?”
“I’ll let you live to see tomorrow.”
“How generous,” you snort.
Your sarcastic comment seems to amuse him, the corner of his mouth ticking up for a second before going back to that deadpan expression.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s alright.”
That was the end of the conversation for your little outing. When you were done eating, he just waved you along, setting you free from his custody.
The countdown to your exam results continues. Two days left, which means you need to have good combinations thought up ahead of time. You’re a little spacey on your walk to the froyo shop, so once again, the scary guy with purple hair snatches you by grabbing onto your arm, yanking you to a full stop and nearly dislocating your shoulder. Your sudden yelp of pain echoes on empty streets.
He drops his hold on you quickly, huffing, “You’re fine. I didn’t even grab you that hard.”
“Seriously, dude. Maybe it’s not that hard for you and your little delinquent friends, but I am fragile.”
“Clearly.”
“Did you need something? I’ve stayed off that block, not out past three in the morning, and the moon is basically still full, so it’s light out. I’m following your rules.”
“You going again?”
“Duh. I’m not out here to make new friends.”
That gets one tiny chuckle out of him. You take it as a good sign that he probably won’t kill you. You ask tentatively, “What’s your name?”
He points at himself, expression hardening. He moves closer, looming over you. The dim lighting flashes off his glasses, temporarily covering his eyes before he shifts, and you can see dark eyes that are narrowed with annoyance. You try to back away, but he keeps coming, taking one easy step for every large stride you make to get away from him. You try to peek around him for escape routes, but he’s built thickly enough that you think he’d drop you before you got away.
“I’m sorry I asked. Just don’t stand so close to me! Please?”
“Wolf.”
“Woof?”
That makes him stop, and he bites his lip so hard in a weird smile you think it might draw blood. The air goes cold and still when he speaks, like the wind knows death is coming.
“Say that again.”
“I have a feeling I said something wrong, so no.”
“You’re fucking obnoxious. I should kill you.”
“But you won’t because…we’re now best buds?”
The look he gives you tells you that he is so completely done with your mouth that keeps spouting off before you can fully filter out your every inane thought.
“You just said you weren’t out to make friends.”
“It’s not about the treasure at the end of the journey, but the friends we make along the way.”
“Go get your dumb ice cream,” he tells you, backing off.
You breathe out a sigh of relief. You have survived yet again, but you might not after he just insulted you like that. You're indignant when you squeak out, “It’s frozen yogurt, not ice cream. Completely different textures.”
Your outburst was completely ignored, and he just trails after you as you walk to the froyo shop. There’s a distinct moment where a grown man with his hood pulled up crosses the street ahead of you to force your paths to cross only a block away from your favorite place in the world, but your newly proclaimed best bud simply steps closer to you. You glance backwards, and he’s got a look on his face that you would best name as spooky.
His face is pulled into a ugly scowl, thick brows drawn down, eyes cold and inspecting the approaching figure, severe frown lines highlight the twist of his expression into something that borders a sneer, smile, and glower all rolled into one. He’s got gauze pads taped to one cheek and his neck, giving off the appearance that he probably was in a fight recently, or maybe he just made weird fashion choices, weren’t really certain on that one.
The hooded figure pauses in his approach, and then he crosses the street back over, hurrying past you both while Wolf stops in place, turning slowly to watch him disappear into the night. He shoves a thumb over his shoulder, warning you, “This is exactly why I said don’t be out at this time. You were about to get robbed, dumbass.”
“He probably just wanted directions. I’ve been doing this for years, and nothing bad has happened to me.”
The look on his face tells you that he thinks you’re as dumb as a box of rocks. Whatever, you didn’t need to impress him. He continues to follow after you to the froyo shop, but declines to eat anything. He just takes a seat at the same table you were at yesterday.
You pick a kiwi flavor, as it’s new and intriguing, even if it might be a little odd. Trying to find toppings is a bit harder than you’d thought. You throw some bananas on top, adding chocolate chunks again too. When it comes to picking out a spoon, you decide on going with pink. It’s cute, and you’re in a good mood despite the oncoming exam results that should send you into a nervous breakdown.
You join Wolf at the table. You can’t believe that is his actual name, but you weren’t going to question him on it. Something about him feels so feral that you think his parents got it right on the nose with such a strange name.
He’s scrolling through his phone while he waits for you, but he’s well mannered enough to drop it once you join him. You try to start some conversation, but his one-word answers tell you he’s not interested.
So, you’re awkwardly eating alone while a guy with purple hair stares you down. The college student cashier seems to have caught on that you’re kind of being held hostage, giving you wide-eyed looks from behind Wolf’s back as he scrubs the same table for ten minutes straight.
You give a tiny shake of your head when he mime’s making a phone call. Of course, Wolf catches it, turning around to glare at the cashier who is finally done with that one table and has moved onto a new one.
“The fuck are you looking at?” Wolf asks the cashier.
The guy shrugs, picking up his cleaning supplies, and disappearing into the backroom. Your companion has the scariest vibes you’ve ever seen. It’s kind of impressive. When you finish up, Wolf follows after you for a few blocks. He doesn’t see you completely home, but he seems satisfied to see you get to a more residential area.
When he turns to leave, you call out with your own name, realizing he had given you a one-sided introduction yesterday. You don’t think he’s so bad, as long as you don’t piss him off. He seems like the aloof type, only really reacting once provoked. He isn’t good company, but he isn’t bad either. At the very least, he’s scaring off weirdos at the night by being the bigger weirdo, so it works out.
Tonight is the last night of your tradition. He’s waiting for you at the same spot he dropped you off. When he sees you approach, he drops his cigarette, stomping it out underfoot before you’re even close enough to smell it.
He greets you by saying your name. It says it slowly, like he’s testing it out on his tongue. You respond in kind, saying his name back to him like this is some shady business deal. It’s kind of funny to you, so you crack a smile at it.
It’s the same as the previous night. He escorts you to the shop, sits at a table, waiting for you to finish your selection. You pick your favorite flavor and topping combination, always saving it for last. You also pick a light purple spoon, a silent nod to your new pal.
When you join him, the cashier seems to have figured out that you were not in danger anymore. Why he didn’t realize your help me eyes on night one, but figured it out afterwards was kind of lame of him.
He seems to be entertaining your small talk better tonight, not just giving yes or no in response to your questions. He seems amused at the lack of information you have on him when he tells you he’s from Ganghak, a similar private school of high standing like your own, but it’s for boys only.
When you’re finishing up, you decide to tell him a little bit about your tradition. He listens to your story, embarrassing details about hair falling out included, with contemplation, taking you very seriously even if you thought the whole thing was kind of silly when you said it aloud. You appreciate that he takes you seriously, and he doesn’t poke fun about your coping mechanism.
“So, yeah. Tonight is my last night for the year.”
“I know.”
You wheeze. “Huh?”
You’re exiting the shop when he points to a building just down the block and across the street. He decides he’s going to give you a heart attack when he tells you, “I live there. I’ve seen you here for the same week every year for the past three years.”
You nearly keel over at the reveal. You huff, “Wait, so you knew what I was doing this entire time?”
“Yup. I also know you threw the spoon.”
You clutch at a building wall, dropping into a squat and pressing your forehead against the wall, too ashamed to face him. He knew you had been bullshitting this entire time, and he just let it go.
Your voice is awkwardly high pitched with the stress he’s caused you. “Why did you pretend you believed me?”
“I thought it was funny.”
“This is so embarrassing.”
“Get up.”
“Let me die right here.”
“Too bad. Let’s go.”
He grabs you by the back of your shirt, dragging you back to your feet and forcing you to keep walking. This is mortifying. He knew the entire time you were bullshitting him, and he just let it happen. Your face feels like it’s on fire from how deeply you’re blushing from the sheer awkwardness of his little reveal. He gets you back to the residential area, but he doesn’t let you go for a moment. He’s scratching at his head, and it reminds you of a dog itching. You’re not going to voice that thought though. See? You had a filter sometimes.
“Give me your phone.”
“Are you robbing me?”
“Do I need to repeat myself?”
You fish out your phone, realizing that he sounded dead serious, and he did actually drop that huge guy with a single punch. You don’t like your odds. He takes it from your hand, glaring at you until you helpfully unlock it for him.
He’s typing something into your phone before he hands it back to you. You let out a sigh of relief that you weren’t just robbed, and he glares. You've got a new contact added, named very helpfully as Wolf Keum.
He tells you, “Text me.”
“Uh, for what?”
That was not the right question. The tips of his ears turn a little pink in the yellow lighting of the street lights overhead. He huffs, “You know, for your ice cream again.”
“I’m not going again until next year,” you say dumbly.
Both of your breaths come out in visible vapor in the cold air. He seems frustrated when he pushes, “Go again tomorrow after you get your results. Go after every quiz for all I care.”
“And you want me to text you when I’m going, why exactly?”
“You want to get robbed or something?”
“Well, no.”
“So text me.”
You hesitate. You think he’s trying to make friends with you which makes more sense than you just having to report your movements to the weirdo. You give him a smile and a pat on the shoulder. “Sure thing, buddy.”
“Do not call me that.”
“Oh,” you say dumbly, “I thought we were friends.”
“No.”
“Ouch.”
He tilts his head back, like he’s deciding if this is even worth his time. He’s looking down at you, when he informs you. “I’m asking you out on a date.”
“Oh, wow.”
“You don’t have to agree. I’m not gonna force you.”
“Sure! I’ll see you again soon.”
His lips quirk up again. He shoves your back, nudging you along before he turns around, sparking up another cigarette, and walking away. You blink dumbly when he turns the corner. What did you just get yourself into?